


Castles of Sand

by hyperlydian



Category: EXO
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, character death (seriously), characters experience a loss of free will, consent becomes dubious in some situations, the one where jongin is the sandman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperlydian/pseuds/hyperlydian
Summary: Jongin builds love up in other people like a child making castles of sand, and each time, he stays too close to the shore, jumping away when the tide comes, and watching as each turret and wall crumbles under the force of the waves.





	Castles of Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my dear, sweet Chang. Claire, you poor thing, I know you asked for something that had Jongin/everyone and involved sleep, but I am sure this isn’t what you wanted at all. Either way, I hope you enjoy it and that you know how glad I am that you decided to visit my inbox that first time!
> 
> Thank you so much to Konnie for listening to me when I whined about this, and to Maia for betaing it, being so dedicated to making sure it reached its full potential, and coddling me while I didn’t know what to do and actually cried my eyes out. Maia, you’ve been a terrible influence on me, I wanted them all dead lol.
> 
> Lastly, I know she’ll never read this, but thank you Gina for being there at 3am and listening to me babble about this, because I know you don’t care about kpop fic, but I know you care about me ♥
> 
> While this was inspired by Andamiro’s [hypnotize](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGigcMweiaE%E2%80%9D), it’s best if read while listening to oOoOO’s [Burnout Eyess](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXx5Qk1iP1M) yet another song maggie showed me, because she’s a genius)

**FIVE**

He starts putting sand in Lu Han’s eyes after Lu Han comes home smelling like someone else.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, after he’s slipped out of his clothes and in between the sheets of their bed. “Work ran over at the restaurant.”  
  
Jongin doesn’t respond and Lu Han curls around his back, leg clinging to Jongin’s hip and a palm pressed to his chest.  
  
“Hey.” His breath is hot against Jongin’s ear.  
  
He tries not to shudder because Lu Han smells wrong, reeks of someone else’s sweat and hair products, and as he presses a kiss to the side of Jongin’s neck, he wonders where else Lu Han’s mouth has been that night.  
  
He’s never had to wonder that before.  
  
Pulling himself out of Lu Han’s grip, Jongin tries to get up out of bed. “I have work,” he says, staring at the moonlight shining against the far wall of their bedroom.  
  
Lu Han sits up, the blanket pooling at his waist and his skin is so pale in the darkness that when he looks, it takes Jongin’s breath away. “Is something wrong?”  
  
He reaches his arms out to pull Jongin in for a kiss and blinks at him slowly when they part. His eyes are a lazy brown and his mouth tastes faintly like cigarettes that Jongin knows Lu Han has never smoked.    
  
Jongin feels numb, distant, like he’s seeing Lu Han from the other end of a tunnel. He wants to lie and say nothing is wrong, but through the miles, he only manages to choke out, “I love you.”  
  
Lips curling into a catlike smile, Lu Han tells him easily, “I know.”  
  
It’s not a lie, it never has been. He watches Lu Han snuggle back beneath the sheets as though nothing is different and Jongin can almost believe it.  
  
  
  
  
  
**INHALE**  
  
Jongin is the sandman, and his sand lines the shores of people’s minds, giving them all pleasant dreams.  
  
His life stretches out along the planes of time, countless nights and days spent thinking of all the dreams he can and giving them away, but Jongin has never once been able to keep a dream for himself.  
  
Each sunset is lonely and his heart beats hollow in his chest like a drum.  
  
  
  
  
  
**EIGHTEEN**  
  
After Jongin begins using the sand for his own purposes, he finds that the amount needed differs from person to person. That first dose is always enough to make them come back, but there is no mistaking when they cross the threshold from interest to obsession.  
  
“I love you,” the man says, just like they all do, and this one’s name is Minseok. His voice is wrecked from moaning and his skin slicked with sweat as he writhes in Jongin’s lap.  
  
Jongin loves Minseok for his laugh and the way they look together in the reflection of store windows. Minseok had been a teacher, but now his whole life is Jongin, and Jongin takes and takes and lets the guilt fill him up until he is able to stopper it with Minseok’s love.  
  
Jongin takes one of his hands from its place around Minseok’s hips to run his fingers along the other man’s jaw. He has a handsome, almost soft face, with cheekbones that catch the light from the bulb overhead. Snapping his hips harder, Jongin tightens his grip on Minseok’s face to hold it in place.  
  
The embers burn in his belly. This is the part he has to see, he _needs_ to see.  
  
“I love you,” Minseok moans again. Jongin can feel his fingers digging into Minseok’s jaw, keeping his face in view as the other man’s hands move feverishly on his own cock, desperate for a release of pressure, and fucks up into the smaller man almost brutally.  
  
Minseok’s eyes fly open, as if his orgasm is a revelation, and he screams out Jongin’s name.  
  
The look of oblivion in Minseok’s eyes drives Jongin over the edge, and when his heart rate has slowed back down, he pulls Minseok to his chest. The other man is still practically sobbing, shaking through the afterglow, mumbling, “I love you, I love you,” over and over into the vein at the base of Jongin’s neck.  
  
The words have Jongin’s skin prickling, all the little hairs standing on end as Minseok’s fingers scrabble at his biceps, trying to hold on tighter, to get closer.  
  
“I know,” Jongin says, and it’s a lie, because what Minseok is feeling is nothing like love and something closer to madness, but that’s why Jongin does this.  
  
Because lies feel pretty good when you know that’s all you’re ever going to get.  
  
  
  
  
  
**SIX**  
  
“Not now, I still have my side work.” Lu Han’s voice is breathless and almost mocking from where Jongin is standing outside of the storage room.  
  
“Let Jongdae take care of it,” says another voice, deeper, more demanding. “I’ve had to stop myself from touching you all night.”  
  
There is a thump and Lu Han sounds exhilarated, the way Jongin knows he gets when he’s been caged in. “So what are you waiting for, then?”  
  
The sounds that follow don’t leave much to the imagination but Jongin finds himself moving further, he has to see, has to _know_. Part of his job is to remain unseen when he wants to, and so when Lu Han’s eyes open, even though he is looking across the closet to where Jongin is standing, all he sees are the stacks of cardboard boxes.  
  
The man Lu Han is with is tall, almost big enough to shield him entirely from view, and his face is buried in the curve of Lu Han’s neck. Both their pants are already down, buckles jangling against each other from where they hang just above the floor as they rut together. The tiny noises Lu Han is making are all too familiar to Jongin. Little swallowed moans that used to make him flush, gasps that had his heart speeding up as he had gathered Lu Han into his arms and thought wildly, _mine, all mine._  
  
Now, though, Lu Han is moaning a different name, clawing at someone else’s shoulders, and Jongin feels sick.  
  
He can see the man’s hand moving between them, hears Lu Han’s head fall back against the shelf behind him, and then the man says, “You love this, don’t you?”  
  
Lu Han whines, rising up on the balls of his feet, as though to get closer to the man’s touch.  
  
“You’re a slut, Lu Han.” Lu Han’s head thumps hard against the shelf again as the man shoves him back to speak low into the skin of his collarbones, barely audible over the sounds Lu Han is still making. “I bet you wish I could fuck you right here.”  
  
“ _Please_ , just — “  
  
“Say it,” the man growls, the naked muscles of the back of his thighs straining to to keep up with the motion of his arm between them. “If you want it, say how much of a slut you are.”  
  
One of Lu Han’s hands is buried in the man’s hair, golden and ash in the halogen lights, and he practically sobs, teeth digging into the flesh of his lip.  
  
Jongin’s fingernails are carving deep crescents into his palms. In all their time together, Lu Han has never gotten worked up so fast, preferring coy love-making and having control. This man has Lu Han boxed in, moaning and at his mercy, and Jongin realizes he doesn’t know anything.  
  
“I’m — I’m a slut,” Lu Han chokes out, sounding desperate. “Just — Wu Fan, let me _come_ — ”  
  
The sounds of skin on skin quicken and Jongin stumbles out of the storage closet, unseen by any of the workers in the kitchen, and runs out the door into the back alley.  
  
He thinks of Lu Han slipping into their bed, kissing his mouth and lying to him — and then replays Lu Han begging in the storage closet for an orgasm from someone else’s hand. Jongin is halfway through picturing Lu Han’s face as he comes, mind twisting his choked words from earlier into an “I love you”, and finds himself heaving, emptying his stomach onto the asphalt of the alley.  
  
  
  
  
  
**THREE**  
  
When Jongin kisses Lu Han for the first time, the realization crashes into him like a wave into the sand of a beach. The small flame in his chest roars into a bonfire, and Lu Han’s face is startlingly clear when their lips part. Jongin can feel Lu Han’s pulse flying wildly under his palm, can see each of Lu Han’s eyelashes as they flutter against his cheeks, and he feels his heart collapse into ashes, like a curtain falling to reveal the gaping emptiness inside of him.  
  
Then Lu Han smiles, fingers threading into Jongin’s hair, and it fills him up, makes him feel almost whole again.  
  
He thinks he must be in love.  
  
  
  
  
  
**EXHALE**  
  
Jongin has spent his existence giving away dreams, but he’s never given away himself.  
  
  
  
  
  
**SEVENTEEN**  
  
Sometimes, Jongin feels like a bucket with a hole in it, water pouring in the top and dripping out of it’s bottom, except instead of water, it’s love.  
  
Every sound that Jongdae makes is like a melody, and he lets Jongin drink it in, the song filling the emptiness in his heart almost as much as when Jongdae looks up at him with sandy eyes, smiling, and says “I love you.”  
  
But no matter how much love Jongin is given, it never seems to be enough to smother the coals that burn too hot in his belly, like a furnace in the lonely cavern of Jongin’s chest. It’s a useless exercise, but Jongin draws bucket after bucket of love from others, until their well runs dry.  
  
  
  
  
  
**SEVEN**  
  
“Say you want me.” It has never been a question of wanting. Lu Han has never made a secret of how in lust he is with Jongin, and it’s apparent even now, in the way he laps at Jongin’s skin, tasting, savoring, as though he wants to devour Jongin’s body whole.  
  
Jongin is not asking Lu Han to lie.  
  
“I want you,” Lu Han gasps, breath ragged as their skin rubs together, slick with a sheen of sweat. “I always want you.”  
  
_Always_ , Jongin thinks with a shiver of pleasure, wrapping up the word deep in his heart.  
  
It is almost enough.  
  
  
  
  
  
**TWENTY-FOUR**  
  
When the rain begins to seep through the collar of Jongin’s jacket, he finally gives up and ducks into the closet building for shelter. It’s late, and he had gone on a walk to clear his head. The image of Yixing, the last man, is still pasted to the insides of his eyelids and the way he spoke keeps climbing up and down his spine, words of Mandarin so reminiscent of Lu Han that they have Jongin’s stomach churning.  
  
The glass of the store door is cold against his forehead as he leans against it, watching as the rain sheets down against the asphalt.  
  
Yixing had looked so thin at the end, refusing to eat even when Jongin had begged him. He thinks of Yixing’s cold hand in his, palm small and clammy like Lu Han’s; of Minseok’s, Chanyeol’s, Baekhyun’s, all the others. No matter how he’s tried, each of their endings has only dug the loneliness deeper and despite the rain, Jongin’s heart feels wrung out like old sponge.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
Jongin jumps, chin bumping the patch of fogged glass where his mouth had been, and turns around.  
  
The place he’s ducked into is a DVD bang, the front room plastered with movie posters and two of the far walls covered with a mosaic of different dvd cases, and in between is the front desk, with a boy staring at him curiously from behind it.  
  
“Did you want to watch something?” the boy asks, and Jongin takes a few steps closer to the desk. The boy looks younger, maybe twenty years old, and there are dark circles under his eyes that Jongin recognizes from when he has looked at himself in the mirror.  
  
“Watch something?” he repeats dumbly, wiping a stray drop of water that has dripped from his hair down into his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, since this is, you know, a DVD bang.”  
  
“Oh.” Jongin’s shoes squish wetly as he walks and he cringes at the feeling. It might be nice to sit and dry out a bit before going home. “Sure.”  
  
The boy looks at him expectantly and the silence stretches out between them.  
  
“Did you have any idea of what you want to watch?”  
  
The boy has dyed blond hair that sweeps across his forehead and has his lower lip sucked into his mouth as he watches Jongin with dark eyes. “What’s your favorite?”  
  
“Mine?” The boy seems kind of surprised at the question and switches to chewing on the lip instead. After a moment, he points out a spy movie in the DVD listings. Jongin thinks his hands are pretty — pale, with the nails trimmed short. “I saw this one a while ago and it was pretty good.”  
  
“Okay,” Jongin says. “I’ll watch that one.”  
  
The boy’s lips are pretty too, his delicate chin casting a shadow on his neck, and his eyes are focused on Jongin’s mouth.  
  
The vacancy left by Yixing aches, raw and open in his throat, and so Jongin says, on a whim, “Want to watch it with me …?”  
  
“Sehun,” the boy says, tearing his gaze from Jongin’s lips to meet his eyes. “My name’s Sehun.”  
  
Sehun leads him into one of the viewing rooms after pressing a few buttons behind the counter, and Jongin wastes no time shucking his sodden coat off and hanging it up on one of the hooks next to the door. The shirt he has on underneath is still damp, and Jongin shivers, shoving his hands inside his pockets.  
  
“Want any snacks?” Sehun asks him, fiddling with the remote. Jongin shakes his head and settles into the leather chair next to him as the credits start to roll.  
  
The seats are close enough that Jongin can feel the heat of Sehun’s thigh near his, and he slips his shoes off too, leaning down to roll off his socks and laying them out in the hopes that they’ll have time to dry.  
  
He’s just settling in, the leather starting to stick to his still damp skin, when Sehun crawls into his lap. He places a knee on either side of Jongin’s hips, reaching up to steady himself with a hand on Jongin’s neck, and Jongin automatically reaches to stop him from falling back, catching his waist. Sehun’s head is silhouetted by the light of the movie screen behind him, but Jongin can still make out the shape of his mouth, burning red in the darkness.  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
Their breath mixes between them, hot and humid, and the heat of Sehun’s ass is bleeding through the wet material on Jongin’s thighs. Sehun’s fingers are cold on his neck and the sensation takes his breath away.  
  
“Jongin,” he breathes, swallowing as Sehun’s hand moves to the nape of his neck to play with the hair there.  
  
“Kiss me, Jongin,” Sehun says, and Jongin does.  
  
Compared to the chill of his hands, Sehun’s mouth is molten, their chests bumping as he presses into Jongin’s space, as if to claim him. Jongin tightens his grip on Sehun, digging into the flesh above his hip bones, and Sehun moans into his mouth.  
  
The movie is still playing and when Jongin runs a hand up Sehun’s shirt, pushing it until it bunches under his armpits, the light shining from the screen makes his pale skin look like a watercolor painting. Sehun seems desperate, tongue licking at the inside of Jongin’s cheeks and the backs of his teeth, even as he arches into Jongin’s hands like he’s hungry for the touch.  
  
There’s something about that hunger that sinks deep, settling down in Jongin’s gut and burning like a hot coal, because Jongin thinks he understands.  
  
He uses his hands to pull Sehun closer, fingers dipping below his waistband to feel the hot skin at the base of his spine, and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to Sehun’s throat.  
  
“More,” Sehun says, moans, throwing his head back and grinding into him. Jongin hears himself make a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, and shoves his hand deeper into Sehun’s pants, until he’s gripping the bare skin of Sehun’s ass. Sehun’s fingernails are digging hard into his shoulders, but Jongin doesn’t feel any pain, mesmerized by the writhing boy in his lap.  
  
Sehun’s hair is a mess now and his throat is swallowing as he rubs himself against Jongin. He looks frantic and amazing.  
  
_Yes,_ says the slow, hungry burn in the pit of Jongin’s stomach, _more_.  
  
Sehun’s fingers fumble with the zipper of his soaked jeans, back still arched to allow Jongin to suck a hickey into the fluttering pulse in his throat. Jongin can’t hear the movie anymore over the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears and the noises Sehun is making, dirty little whines that have his cock jumping in Sehun’s hand.  
  
Sehun pulls back to look at him, fingers still cold but warming on the hot skin of Jongin’s shaft, and licks his lips. Jongin can just barely see the mark he’s left on Sehun’s neck, bruise stark on otherwise unblemished skin, and he traces it with a fingernail. Sehun shivers into the touch, rubbing his thumb into Jongin’s slit, and Jongin presses down into the bruise until Sehun’s mouth drops open, breath harsh even as he grinds himself down hard on Jongin’s thigh.  
  
Jongin finally pops the button of Sehun’s pants and Sehun scrambles off Jongin’s lap to peel them off his legs. His briefs hit the floor too, and he reaches between the cushions of the other seat, pulling out a bottle of lube and setting it on the table. Amused, Jongin almost asks Sehun if he’s the one that put that there, but before he can, Sehun is crawling back into his lap, tugging down the waist of Jongin’s jeans and underwear past his hips, until they rest mid-thigh.  
  
Then he runs his palms under Jongin’s shirt, fingernails scraping and breath short and harsh next to Jongin’s ear, and Jongin grabs two handfuls of Sehun’s ass, pulling him until their cocks are rubbing together. The friction makes them both hiss, and Sehun shoves the bottle at him. Jongin thinks he can hear Sehun whimpering “hurry, hurry — “ as Jongin slicks his fingers, quickly bringing them around so he can wet Sehun’s entrance before pressing inside.  
  
Sehun clenches around his fingertip, sucking in a breath through his teeth, and Jongin stills, studying Sehun’s face for any traces of pain. He must pause for too long though, because Sehun suddenly grips his wrist, pressing him in deeper. Jongin lets Sehun do the work, watching him fuck himself on Jongin’s hand and only pausing to tell Jongin he wants more.  
  
Jongin’s cock is leaking against his shirt and when Sehun reaches back around, pouring a trail of lube that drips down the length and then spreading it, Jongin groans, low and loud.  
  
“Hurry,” Sehun gasps at him, lifting himself up on his knees and guiding Jongin’s cock to where he wants it. “Oh god, just — “  
  
He sinks down and Jongin can only hold on, feeling Sehun’s thighs tremble as they strain. Sehun is so, so tight around him, hot and pulsing as he takes more of Jongin in, and when he’s down all the way, ass flush with Jongin’s hips, he lets out a noise, almost a sob, and buries his face in Jongin’s shoulder.  
  
Sehun’s whole body is quivering in his lap, arms thrown around Jongin’s neck, and Jongin finds himself moving his fingers in long strokes up and down Sehun’s spine, as if to soothe him.  
  
“It’s okay,” Jongin hears himself murmur, “I’m right here.”  
  
Sehun raises his head after a moment, hands gripping Jongin’s hair tightly, and claims Jongin’s mouth again before rocking his hips.  
  
The pleasure is so sharp it almost stings, tearing into Jongin more and more with every move Sehun’s makes. Digging his teeth into Jongin’s lip one last time, Sehun pulls back, fucking himself down hard on Jongin’s cock until Jongin almost thinks he can see stars.  
  
“Harder, oh _please_ ,” Sehun sobs, throat glistening with sweat that catches the colors of the movie screen and makes Jongin want to lick at the hollow of his throat.  
  
Sehun’s cock is bouncing between them, flushed dark, and Jongin releases Sehun’s waist to take ahold of it, fingering the crown and then giving it a long stroke. Sehun shudders around him, breath shaky and Jongin feels his own orgasm filling him up, almost ready to burst.  
  
He leans forward, sinking his teeth into the hickey he’d left on Sehun’s neck, and Sehun comes, spilling hotly over Jongin’s fist.  
  
“Jongin,” he cries out, body arching harshly, and Jongin barely manages to free his hand, pulling Sehun up off of him by the torso until his chin rests on Jongin’s shoulder, jerking himself off until he comes wetly on the back of Sehun’s thighs.  
  
Over Sehun’s shoulder, Jongin can see the movie playing, but his vision is blurred, so he can’t make out more than fuzzy shapes. Sehun’s exhales are loud in his ear, the soft skin of his lower back warm under Jongin’s palms, and the contented hum of release sinks into his chest. The hungry burn in his belly is quieter now, replaced with the slow rhythm of Sehun’s heartbeat.  
  
He closes his eyes, and thinks that Sehun smells like winter’s first snow.  
  
  
  
  
  
**ELEVEN**  
  
Lu Han’s insanity is like the slow, steady trickling of sand through an hourglass.  
  
“Lu Han? You okay?”  
  
Jongin stopped putting dream sand Lu Han’s eyes a few days before, guilt stilling his hand over Lu Han’s sleeping face.  
  
Jongin wants it to be real when Lu Han says that he loves him, wants Lu Han to be free of the influence of his sand. The problem is that Lu Han isn’t the same as before, the outline of his body faint in the lamplight of their apartment, and when he reaches for his water glass, his hand shakes as if he’s going through withdrawal.  
  
“It’s strange,” Lu Han says, Jongin’s oversized sweatshirt hanging off his collarbones alarmingly. “My head feels hollow and everything is blurry.”  
  
Jongin picks up a piece of meat and brings the chopsticks to Lu Han’s lips. “Eat something. You’re so pale you’re like a ghost.”  
  
Lu Han chews dutifully, but is too listless to move from the dining room chair, and Jongin watches in horror as Lu Han looks out the window, the sudden, silent tears on his cheeks glittering in the sunlight.  
  
Jongin wonders if the more you love someone else, the more you grow to hate yourself.  
  
  
  
  
  
**EIGHT**  
  
“Say you love me,” Jongin says, and Lu Han whimpers in his arms as though gasping for air. Jongin knows he’s holding on too tightly but he can’t make himself let go. He wants to press the imprint of his palms on Lu Han’s skin so deeply that it never goes away, so that Lu Han never forgets him.  
  
Instead, he tries to pacify Lu Han with soft kisses to his neck, nose brushing the underside of his chin.  
  
“I love you,” Lu Han whispers finally, but it’s too weak, a thread too thin to bind Lu Han to him, and Jongin knows he needs more.  
  
  
  
  
  
**INHALE**  
  
Jongin builds love up in other people like a child making castles of sand, and each time, he stays too close to the shore, jumping away when the tide comes, and watching as each turret and wall crumbles under the force of the waves.  
  
  
  
  
  
**FOURTEEN**  
  
Jongin goes out, wandering through places he used to know and trying to clear the cobwebs that fill the emptiness of Lu Han's death from his mind, and finds himself at a club, music thrumming through his blood and jump-starting his heart until he feels like he can breathe again. There are too many people on the dance floor, a crush of bodies and sweat and the stickiness of liquor, but Jongin strips off his jacket and joins them.  
  
It may seem strange, but Jongin loves to dance. The only problem is that dancing isn't a person; it can't love him back and the one-sided affection reminds him too much of Lu Han, so when the bass pulses extra hard, the beat makes his stomach churn and Jongin worms his way to the edge of the dance floor, desperate for air. He stumbles on the fringes of the crowd, only missing a hard landing because of a pair of large hands.  
  
"Careful," someone says, and Jongin looks up into Wu Fan's face as he regains his balance. He's sure Wu Fan doesn't recognize him — Jongin only knows Wu Fan from the time when Jongin had watched Lu Han with him, sickly curious, and he's almost positive that Lu Han had never mentioned he had a boyfriend.  
  
"You okay?" Wu Fan's voice is stilted, consonants curving in a way that belies the fact that he's not a native speaker, and Jongin's heart aches for Lu Han. The burning in his stomach reignites until the fire is licking at his throat, scorching it. Somehow, he nods. "You look like you need a drink," Wu Fan says, and he still hasn't let go of Jongin's shoulders. Wu Fan's palms fit perfectly over the bones, large and steady, and Jongin lets himself be guided over to the bar.  
  
There's something magnetic about Wu Fan, and by the time Jongin has a drink in his hand, part of him doesn't even blame Lu Han for being attracted. The rest of him, though, is almost viciously angry. He wants to hurt Wu Fan, break him like Jongin had broken Lu Han in the end, out of his own selfishness, like a wind-up toy soldier missing all its gears.  
  
"Come home with me," Jongin says, his breath hot against Wu Fan's mouth as he pulls him down by the collar until their faces are level.  
  
"What are you going to do to me if I do?" Wu Fan smirks, and suddenly, even though Jongin's the one with his hands fisted in Wu Fan's shirt, he suddenly feels like the prey.  
  
Jongin bares his teeth and hisses, "I'm going to tear you apart."  
  
Wu Fan smiles, eyes dark, and lets Jongin take him home.  
  
There’s a certain irony to seeing Wu Fan’s skin against the sheets of his bed, and even though they stopped smelling of Lu Han long ago, Lu Han had probably smelled more like Wu Fan than the rain in the end anyway.  
  
Sex with Wu Fan is give and take, where Jongin gives up his body and Wu Fan takes control, and it’s exhilarating.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Wu Fan says, teeth biting at the inside of Jongin’s thigh. “I thought you were going to tear me apart?”  
  
Jongin suddenly remembers Lu Han begging in the storage room at Wu Fan’s mercy, and drags Wu Fan up by the hair. “I hate you,” he snarls, and Wu Fan moans, deep in his throat.  
  
“Then show me.”  
  
Wu fan lets Jongin fuck him open hard, arms trembling with their combined weight as he digs his palms into the mattress, and Jongin would think he was hurting Wu Fan because there are tears on his face, except that every time Jongin tries to stop, Wu Fan reaches back to grip Jongin’s thighs so hard he can feel them bruise.  
  
This is the kind of sex Jongin and Lu Han had never had and Jongin feels consumed by it, his body shattering, melting, like glass on the surface of the sun.  
  
Wu Fan comes into his own hand, other arm collapsing so his face is pressed into the pillow, and Jongin thinks savagely that his moans sound even better muffled by fabric. He jerks himself off onto Wu Fan’s back, crying out as his orgasm rips through him, and when he runs his finger through the semen, the jealousy that has been clawing away inside of him for so long somehow feels sated.  
  
He cleans Wu Fan off carefully, almost regretting his roughness, and Wu Fan rolls over onto his back, taking in a deep breath.  
  
“Wow,” he says, and then laughs a little breathlessly. “I guess you really must hate me.”  
  
“Why’d you let me do that? You don’t seem the type to let someone…” Jongin trails off.  
  
Wu Fan smirks at him through the dark. “Fuck me?” He shrugs, wincing a little as though his back hurts, and explains, “I figure I shouldn’t dish it out if I can’t take it. And if it hurts, then so much the better.”  
  
Jongin can see the remnants of Wu Fan’s tears on his cheeks and shifts uncomfortably, unsure if he should apologize. Wu Fan doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Doesn’t matter how much someone else hates you, because you’ll always hate yourself more, you know?” Wu Fan wipes at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “The important thing is that that other person feels _something_ for you. Love, hate— we’ve all just got to take what we can get.”  
  
Even knowing that Lu Han’s words came from the sand dreams and not from his heart, Jongin had felt some relief because at least Lu Han had felt _something_ for him.  
  
Jongin thinks somehow, he and Wu Fan might understand each other perfectly. “Have you ever been in love?”  
  
“Once,” Wu Fan says. “It was nice.” Jongin nods, staring at the ceiling, and Wu Fan’s long fingers pressing into his hipbone. The touch makes him feel lonely. “Now I don’t feel anything.”  
  
Wu Fan drifts off to sleep, frowning even then, and Jongin smoothes a finger across Wu Fan’s eyebrows. The scowl doesn’t go away, though, lips pulled into a tight downward curve. Jongin is captivated by the way Wu Fan’s eyelashes fan across his cheeks. Maybe…  
  
Wu Fan had said he didn’t feel anything, had told Jongin that people just had to take what they could get.  
  
Would it really be such a crime, Jongin wonders. Wouldn’t he be doing Wu Fan a favor? Taking what he could and making Wu Fan feel again, mending two broken hearts, even if the solution was only temporary.  
  
Jongin thinks he might be able to love Wu Fan because part of him is just as selfish as Jongin, because while Wu Fan pretends not to care, he probably really cares most of all.  
  
The space where Jongin had buried his grief over Lu Han and his hate for Wu Fan aches and eats at him, begging to be filled again, and Jongin just wants to be _wanted_.  
  
“Just this once,” he promises himself, a whisper in the dark as he raises his hand, but when Jongin licks his lips, the untruth is heavy on his tongue, grainy and bitter like ocean sand.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-EIGHT**  
  
Sehun is too quiet when they go out for dinner, the silence gaping between them like an open wound. Jongin’s never been one to talk much, but he’s always had people around willing to fill the emptiness, and so it leaves him feeling naked, exposed to the glances of Sehun’s dark eyes.  
  
In the full light of the restaurant, Sehun’s face is even more handsome, finely boned and aristocratic, and somehow, Jongin thinks maybe the silence suits him. He’s thin, too, delicate collar bones peeking out of the neck of his shirt, and on a whim, Jongin moves half of his own serving of noodles into Sehun’s bowl.  
  
Chewing on his lip, Sehun looks at him curiously.  
  
“I’m not that hungry,” Jongin says, and it’s not a lie. His appetite had mostly faded away when Sehun had taken off his jacket to show that he was wearing a copy of what had been Lu Han’s favorite shirt, a blood-red Manchester United jersey, underneath. “Are you a big fan of them?” Jongin nods at the jersey stiffly and Sehun swallows his mouthful quickly, shaking his head.  
  
“My brother gave it to me last Christmas. He loves them.” Sehun fiddles with his chopsticks for a moment before leaning forward, as though sharing a secret with Jongin. “I actually can’t stand soccer.”  
  
He brings up a hand to cover his mouth as he laughs, eyes dancing, and Jongin feels his muscles relax again. It’s been so long, and still, Lu Han always seems to be around every corner, lurking in the shadows and waiting for Jongin to let his guard down again.  
  
“Seyeong looked so excited when he gave it to me, though,” Sehun explains, picking up a pickled radish from the dish between them and popping it into his mouth cutely. “I couldn’t bear to tell him I can’t even sit through a whole game.”  
  
Jongin likes the way Sehun speaks, his slight lisp reminding him of Lu Han’s curved syllables, accent threading in and out of the words he so often whispered into Jongin’s ears, and he is all at once endeared and horrified by the comparison.  
  
Lu Han hadn’t needed the sand at first either, and even though Jongin likes Sehun’s fragile-looking forearms and the straight bridge of his nose and the way he laughs, he is terrified that Sehun and Lu Han will turn out to be the same.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **NINE**  
  
“Say you love me,” Jongin says, begs. He feels helpless and hollow and he needs to hear the words.  
  
Lu Han’s eyes are closed, but Jongin’s name is on his lips, along with strands of Mandarin words that Jongin doesn’t understand but knows from when they had been whispered against his mouth during their times together before.  
  
Lu Han is beautiful, spread on the white of their sheets and Jongin loves him so much he thinks his heart might be breaking.  
  
“Say you love me,” Jongin pleads again. He blinks and a tear drops onto the skin of Lu Han’s hip, sliding down its slope and glittering in the light as it falls, like a shooting star.  
  
The desperate words are clawing at his throat, searing and twisting out of place, until, “Love me, _love me_ ,” is spilling from his mouth, hot syllables that burn wretchedly in the air between them.  
  
Beneath him, Lu Han gasps, pressing his hands to Jongin’s chest and digging his fingernails in to take hold. Jongin feels his pulse spike, as though Lu Han is clutching his heart and squeezing it to beat double-time in the cage of his ribs, and when Lu Han’s eyes flutter open, and he says, “I love you,” Jongin aches to believe him.  
  
Sometimes he thinks it hurts so much that he almost does.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SIXTEEN**  
  
The part Jongin hates the most is when the nightmares start. He’d once asked Baekhyun what they were of, and Baekhyun had only shaken his head, lips pale and eyes rimmed with red, and refused to say. If Jongin stops using the sand, though, the nightmares only get worse, bad enough to drive them mad, and so he goes through with it, waiting each night for the screams.  
  
“I was being emptied out,” Chanyeol says into his shoulder one night, after Jongin had shaken him awake. “It was like someone had stuck a funnel in my chest and they were pouring my insides out and storing them inside little glass jars until I was hollow inside.”  
  
Chanyeol’s body is shaking and Jongin’s heart feels as if it’s gushing blood, thick with his own selfishness so that it runs slow, like bitter syrup.  
  
“Then they stuffed me,” Chanyeol continues, throat swallowing around a gag, “filled me up with cotton — “  
  
He buries his face into Jongin’s chest then, wrapping his limbs around Jongin tight to stop his shivering.  
  
Chanyeol’s body has a way of curling around his, pulling Jongin close, until he can hear Chanyeol’s heartbeat, and the slow cadence of it always makes Jongin feel like he belongs.  
  
Jongin doesn’t have a home, not since Lu Han, but Jongin loves Chanyeol because he makes it possible for him to pretend. Now though, he feels sick, stomach clenching as his shirt grows damp with Chanyeol’s tears, and Jongin thinks there might be something very wrong with how much he wants to be loved.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TEN**  
  
“I love you,” Lu Han tells him, without prompting and something akin to horror sweeps up and down Jongin’s spine.  
  
Their fingers are wound together tightly and Lu Han’s smile is bright, framed by his kissed-pink lips, but when he looks into Lu Han’s eyes, they seem to glitter golden, as though they’re filled with sand.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **EXHALE**  
  
If hearing Lu Han say “I love you” is Jongin’s greatest desire fulfilled, then watching him, and all the others, as they break down, sanity disintegrating until their minds turn to dust, is his penance.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **NINETEEN**  
  
Jongin likes to study the small shape of Kyungsoo’s nose in the dark while he sleeps, tries to memorize the way he bites his lips when he’s nervous, and how pretty his eyelids look glittering with sand. There’s something very fragile about Kyungsoo, the way there had been about Lu Han’s wrists when they caught the sunlight, like a glass window that might shatter, but is strong enough to keep out the wind.  
  
Kyungsoo is small, but he takes care of Jongin like he is fifty feet tall. Jongin loves him for his laugh, and the almost irrational way Kyungsoo makes Jongin want to protect him, but when he sprinkles the sand in Kyungsoo’s eyes, watching his pupils fog with obsession when he wakes, Jongin wishes he loved differently.  
  
He takes and takes and takes until there’s nothing left but sand, and in the end, the thing Jongin should really be protecting Kyungsoo from his himself.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWELVE**  
  
Without the sand and the dreams that come with it, the little grains of Lu Han are slipping through Jongin’s fingers.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Jongin wipes the tears from Luhan’s cheekbones with his thumbs.  
  
“I feel so empty.”  
  
Lu Han’s body is terrifyingly weak, so even as he claws at Jongin’s body, pulls Jongin on top of him and begs, Jongin won’t do more than stroke Lu Han’s hair until the crying subsides.  
  
The tear tracks dry on Lu Han’s face as he drifts off into a fitful sleep, and Jongin does the only thing he can think of, and fills Lu Han’s head with sand.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **INHALE**  
  
The sand isn’t meant for this, isn’t made to cast a spell of obsession over someone until the threads of their sanity snap, and Jongin thinks that must be why things go so wrong at the end.  
  
Jongin is the sandman, and his job is to use his sand to give people good dreams, and he does — but it’s possible to have too much of a good thing. The dreams Jongin gives to Lu Han, and all the others after, are wrong. They are of himself, of them together in paradise, and they say they love him for it, even when the dreams twist in on themselves to become nightmares.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-NINE**  
  
“Nightmares,” Sehun says one night, when they’ve met up too many times to count and Jongin is starting to know Sehun’s apartment better than his own.  
  
Sehun’s legs are tangled with his and Jongin can’t stop himself from running his palm over the softness of them, lingering on the curve of Sehun’s hip, the dip at the back of his knee. If Jongin didn’t know better, he’d think that Sehun was leaning into the touch, and the idea seems dangerous.  
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s why I don’t get much sleep.”  
  
“You sleep when I’m here.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Something is unfurling in Jongin’s chest, dampening the scorching burn into something bearable, and as Sehun’s breath evens beside him, he thinks it might be purpose.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-FIVE**  
  
Sehun’s weight is warm as he sleeps on top of Jongin in the chair, his sleepy breaths brushing against Jongin’s neck. Jongin doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but Sehun sleeps like the dead, as if he hasn’t rested in weeks, and then he pulls back, blinking at Jongin with clouded eyes.  
  
“Was I asleep?” Sehun asks, sounding almost disbelieving.  
  
Jongin nods. “For a few hours.”  
  
“Hours?” Sehun blinks again and then scrambles out of Jongin’s lap, shoving a foot through a leg of his jeans. Using a spare water bottle, he wets a few tissues and gives them to Jongin so he can clean himself up and then lets them both out of the viewing room.  
  
Before Jongin is able to slip out unnoticed into the rain, Sehun says a quiet “thank you.” Jongin tells himself that the chill he feels is from the rain.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-ONE**  
  
Jongin loves the dips in Zitao’s spine and the way his lips constantly seem to tremble on the edge between a smile and a pout, always keeping Jongin guessing.  
  
Zitao is the type that most misunderstand, with deep-set eyes that make people nervous, even as Zitao clutches Jongin’s hand and giggles innocently into his shoulder as they ride the subway together. Jongin thinks he must misunderstand Zitao too, has given up on trying to solve him, a directionless puzzle with no edges.  
  
It’s things like when Jongin sees Zitao take his coat off in the middle of winter and give it to an old woman in the subway station. It’s the kind of selfless act Jongin can’t figure out. He still pulls Zitao close, hoping his own body heat will replace the thick coat Zitao so willingly gave away, but Jongin knows he’ll never be even half as warm.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **ONE**  
  
When Jongin first sees Lu Han, it’s through the rain. A spring shower starts just before dusk and he is caught walking the streets without his umbrella up, soaked hair plastering to his forehead and trailing rainwater into his eyes.  
  
A little ways down the street, a man is standing under the cover of a bus shelter, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head as he peeks out at the rain, and Jongin thinks he’s beautiful.  
  
“Here,” he says, holding out his unused umbrella.  
  
The man blinks up at him, rain droplets clinging to his eyelashes. His nose is red with cold and Jongin thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “What?”  
  
“Take my umbrella. I’m wet already, so I don’t need it.”  
  
Jongin leans the umbrella up against the side of the shelter, next to the man, and walks back out into the storm. He can feel the man’s eyes on his back, and that makes the water dripping down inside the collar of his jacket worth it.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **THIRTEEN**  
  
Without Lu Han, the bed is cold. Jongin lies in it, sheets scraping against his skin as if there is leftover sand there, chafing after a trip to the beach, and he closes his eyes, trying to sleep.  
  
Over the years, Jongin has often wondered what it is like to dream, but never more-so than after he had watched Lu Han’s slow spiral into madness. He wonders if dreams are like being trapped inside your own imagination, sleep like a cage preventing your escape, or if the good ones are like lying in a bed of clouds, and consciousness rips you away from the comfort, through the bottom.  
  
For Jongin, sleep is like pulling a light’s power cord out of the socket. He doesn’t dream, instead floating in the darkness, breathing, and waiting for his body to wake again. His mind doesn’t need sleep, and so while his physical self rests, he simply drifts, weightless in the space between two stars.  
  
Since Lu Han has been gone, though, Jongin’s body doesn’t sleep. His mind no longer drifts. There are no stars.  
  
He feels empty, hollowed out like an old vase, until the guilt fills him up, overflowing and dripping down the sides like a viscous liquid. As the sun sets and dusk falls, the liquid pools on his chest, weighing down his sternum and hardening until he feels coated, stuck in a prison of his own culpability, and he can’t move.  
  
The sheets still smell like Lu Han and Jongin misses him so much he can hardly breathe.  
  
He used to go out and work, think of good dreams and drop them in people’s eyes as golden sand, but now the nights are an open vein, hemorrhaging into the days and he’s running out of blood, bleeding out until his heart has run dry.  
  
“Get up, Jongin,” he says to the shadows on the ceiling. The shapes are unmoving, and Jongin feels like his limbs are buried in sand. “You have to get up.”  
  
  
  
  
  
 **EXHALE**  
  
Jongin tries the sand on himself once, thinking of peaceful oblivion as he sprinkles a pinch into his eyes, but nothing happens, and maybe it’s Jongin’s curse to exist without the escape of dreaming.  
  
His consciousness is like a cage and the broken beating of his heart rattles against its iron bars.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-SIX**  
  
Jongin finds himself back at the DVD bang again.  
  
He tells himself he came back because he had forgotten to put sand in Sehun’s eyes as the other boy had fallen asleep in his lap, but the slow hunger is burning in his chest again and it’s making his throat ache.  
  
It’s 3am and Sehun looks tired. The blond of his hair makes him looked washed out, like a wet piece of paper that’s gone soggy and torn around the edges.  
  
“Can I — “ Sehun starts, and then he looks up. “Oh. It’s you.”  
  
Jongin shrugs. Even though the rest of him seems too pale, Sehun’s mouth is still pink against the white of his teeth. “You look tired,” Jongin says.  
  
Sehun mirrors his shrug. “I don’t get much sleep.”  
  
“Then why do you work nights?”  
  
“Because I don’t get much sleep.” Sehun takes a look at his phone. “I don’t get off work for another hour.”  
  
The burn tightens in Jongin’s chest. He thinks he likes Sehun’s hooded, dark eyes. “I’ll wait.”  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWO**  
  
Jongin is walking down the street, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket as the sun goes down. He can feel the sand rising up beneath his fingers, waiting to be put to use.  
  
“Excuse me!” A hand on his sleeve pulls Jongin to a halt and he turns, coming face to face with the man from the rainy day. The man’s eyebrows are drawn together, lips parted as he looks up into Jongin’s face, as though he’s surprised. “Oh.”  
  
“What?” Jongin says, and the man still hasn’t let go of his sleeve. He’s not as young as Jongin had first thought, broad shoulders more apparent in a jacket than they had been in a sweatshirt, and Jongin likes the way the wind ruffles the man’s hair.  
  
“You lent me your umbrella the other day,” the man says, holding the umbrella out for Jongin to take. “I’ve been coming here every night around the same time hoping to find you.”  
  
“You didn’t have to…” Jongin trails off. When he takes the umbrella, its handle is still warm from the man’s palm.  
  
“Look, um.” The man tugs almost awkwardly at the hem of his jacket and Jongin bites his lip, hiding a smile. “I know this might be weird, but I’m Lu Han, and I was wondering if I might — Could I take you out to dinner? As a thank you?”  
  
It’s on the tip of Jongin’s tongue to refuse, but there’s something warm fluttering in his stomach, a little flame ignited deep down at the shine of Lu Han’s eyes in the streetlights, and so he says yes.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-TWO**  
  
Sometimes they talk. The sand doesn’t take away their personality, and Jongin likes to hold on to this tiny shard of reality even as he has to watch a person’s will crumble like a sandcastle in high tide.  
  
Yixing tells him about his ex-girlfriend, a girl he’d been so in love with he’d left his family and hometown just to be with her.  
  
“Why’d you break up?”  
  
“She never said she loved me, even after I told her I loved her, and I thought that wasn’t fair.” Yixing turns to look at him. It’s spring, and the damp smell of the grass beneath them as they lie on the hill is almost overwhelming. Yixing’s eyes glitter in the dark, reflecting the pinpricks of starlight in the sky, but behind that, Jongin can see them beginning to fill with golden grains of sand. Jongin loves Yixing for his honesty, for his guileless eyes, and the way he whispers "I love you" into Jongin's palms, floating between Korean and Mandarin until he drifts off to sleep.  
  
“Do you ever think you’re more in love with the idea of someone saying “I love you” than you are with another person?”  
  
Jongin’s throat sticks, and he realizes that somehow, all the “I love you’s” he’s ever received have still left him empty.  
  
“The idea of wanting someone to love you is such a selfish one,” Yixing says. “Shouldn’t it just be enough to love them yourself and wish them a full and happy life?”  
  
Jongin thinks if that’s true, then maybe he’s never really been in love.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **FIFTEEN**  
  
Baekhyun is beautiful, just like Lu Han had been, and Jongin loves the way his slim fingers clutch at his chest, leaving marks that make him feel owned. Luckily for Jongin, Baekhyun likes the idea of owning, and Jongin thinks that the more Baekhyun wants him, the more beautiful he becomes.  
  
But as much as Jongin loves beautiful things, he’s even more aware of their mortality and thinks they're prettier for it. It’s heart-wrenching to watch Baekhyun wither away like a leaf in the fall, and Jongin feels himself wither a little with it too, but even as he crumbles, Baekhyun’s beauty only grows. Jongin takes the sweet shape of Baekhyun’s glassy eyes and the graceful trembling of his pale mouth, and keeps them locked up in his heart, a different kind of owning.  
  
Sometimes, Jongin pictures the inside of his own heart and sees a display case, glittering with all the parts he loved most from people, and they’re shut tight in bottles, along with all his deepest dreams, because Jongin can’t bear the thought of someone taking them away.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **THIRTY-ONE**  
  
Jongin’s sand is itching beneath his skin, waiting to be used on Sehun, but something is stopping him. Instead, he finds himself going out like he used to, before he met Lu Han, sprinkling sand into sleeping people’s eyes. The dreams Jongin gives them don’t include his face, and Jongin feels lighter than he has in a long time.  
  
Sehun needs Jongin, has to use him to be able to sleep peacefully, and Jongin needs Sehun to need him. Maybe the ache to be needed is less selfish than the one to be loved, and maybe it isn’t, but they’re different enough to let Jongin breathe.  
  
Sometimes, though, the scrape of sand between Jongin’s fingers reminds him too easily of Yixing’s pale face, and Lu Han's, and the way his own selfishness had climbed up his throat, eating him from the inside out.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **INHALE**  
  
Loneliness cuts, the sharpest knife of all, and Jongin’s heart aches, heavy like a stone in his chest.  
  
Each time he loves, Jongin feels a part of himself chip away, and the practice leaves his heart raw as he shaves down its ragged, broken edges with sandpaper.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-SEVEN**  
  
Sehun’s apartment is sparse and clean, more from the absence of a lot of furniture than actual neatness, and he shushes Jongin as they walk past the tiny kitchenette to where the TV is. It’s still on, some drama rerun flashing across the screen, and Jongin spots a boy slumped on the couch, asleep. He has Sehun’s nose and mouth, and his school uniform is rumpled, the tie lying carelessly on the cushion next to him.  
  
Sehun sighs, tugging off the boy’s shoes and moving him so that his feet are on the couch. Then he grabs the nearby blanket and drapes it over him before turning off the TV.  
  
“My brother, Seyeong,” he whispers. “He’s still in high school, and so that’s why— I work nights.”  
  
“Oh. So everything you make…”  
  
“Goes to pay for his tuition, yeah.”  
  
“Why?” The question falls out of Jongin’s mouth before he has a chance to think and then it’s too late to snatch it back out of the air. Luckily, Sehun is too distracted to notice how incredulous Jongin sounds.  
  
“It’s worth it.” Sehun shrugs. “He’s my kid brother. I’d do anything for him.”  
  
Sehun fusses with Seyeong’s bangs then, brushing them out of his eyes even though he’s asleep, and Jongin doesn’t understand.  
  
He’s only ever loved people for what they could give. Jongin’s never thought about giving himself back.  
  
“C’mon.” Sehun pulls him by the arm to the far bedroom. It’s dark inside, and once the door is closed, the first thing Jongin feels is Sehun’s hands tugging at his collar, pulling their mouths together. Just like before, Sehun’s fingers are freezing against the skin of his neck and Jongin shivers, goosebumps breaking out across his body. Stepping back, Sehun slips his arms out of his jacket. Jongin does the same, fingers fumbling a little with the zipper, and when he looks up again, Sehun is shirtless, his bare torso catching the little bit of light from the streetlamp just outside the window.  
  
Jongin’s mouth suddenly seems very dry.  
  
“Jongin,” Sehun says as he backs toward the bed, and his voice is quiet, but the sound is like a gunshot in the dark. “I’m cold.”  
  
He holds out a hand as he sits down and Jongin takes it, fingertips touching Sehun’s wrist firmly enough to feel how fast his heart is beating. Jongin feel hear his own pulse in his throat, and he lets himself be pulled down on the bed, mouth molding to Sehun’s again until the only other sound he can hear is the mixture of their shuddering breaths.  
  
Sehun lets Jongin stretch him at his own pace now, hands clutching the edges of the pillow under his head as he bites his lip to muffle the sounds he’s making, and Jongin drinks in the sight.  
  
Sehun’s skin may be cold, but his body is hot around Jongin’s fingers, each push of them inside causing the muscles in Sehun’s thighs shudder, and Jongin can’t stop watching the expressions cross Sehun’s face. The thumb of one hand rubbing soft circles above Sehun’s hip bone, Jongin takes the slippery fingers of the other and _twists_ , and Sehun’s eyes snap open.  
  
Jongin can’t look away, the intensity in Sehun’s eyes making his blood run hot and cold all at once. He pulls his fingers out, and when he goes to line himself up, for some reason his hands are shaking. Sehun winds his legs around Jongin’s lower back, pulling him forward, and Jongin moves to support himself with an arm on either side of Sehun’s head. Sehun is looking up at him with dark, wet eyes, and when Jongin pushes inside, his mouth falls open beautifully in a silent scream.  
  
Then Sehun’s legs wrap tighter and Jongin can feel his blood beginning to boil underneath his skin. Sehun whines, eyes begging at Jongin for more, and his breath is shaky on Jongin’s sweaty neck. Reaching back, Jongin lifts one of Sehun’s legs until it hangs over his shoulder, tilting Sehun slightly on his back, and then pushes in hard. Sehun’s scream is caught behind his teeth, and when Jongin leans forward to catch Sehun’s mouth again, he feels the muscles of the leg on his shoulder strain at the stretch. Sehun’s fingers are scrabbling at Jongin’s neck, his hair, anything he can hold on to, back arching to accommodate how Jongin is holding him wide open. They kiss frantically, and Sehun’s teeth cut into Jongin’s lip, making him gasp out a moan, but he doesn’t pull away.  
  
He wants more, more skin, more of Sehun’s mouth, wants to warm Sehun’s skin until it’s burning underneath like his. He changes the angle again, going up on his knees so that he can lift Sehun’s hips off the bed and Sehun cries out as his leg is pressed back even further, knee flush with his chest. In spite of that, Sehun wraps an arm around Jongin’s neck, keeping him close and burying his face in Jongin’s shoulder.  
  
Sehun’s body is quivering around Jongin, shocks of pleasure sparking up his spine, and he knows he’s close. Somehow, he manages to reach between them, grabbing ahold of Sehun’s cock and fisting it. Sehun clenches around him at the touch and Jongin comes, throat choking on air and his skin catching fire.  
  
Sehun keens beneath him, Jongin’s hand somehow still moving, and he bites down on Jongin’s shoulder to muffle the sound when he comes.  
  
As Jongin pulls out, Sehun stiffly lowers his leg, muscles trembling from the overexertion and sweat glistening on his collarbones. Jongin grabs a few tissues off the bedside table, and once he’s cleaned up, he stretches out on the bed next to Sehun, the pleasure still thrumming through his body.  
  
Jongin can hear Sehun still trying to catch his breath, and he doesn’t expect the tug on his wrist.  
  
“Cold,” Sehun mumbles, wriggling his way into Jongin’s side. Jongin turns his head to look over and see Sehun face, eyelids fluttering sleepily and his nose scrunched up as he tries to get comfortable. Normally, Jongin would point out that they were lying on top of the covers, but Sehun has got a leg slung over his hip and is humming into his shoulder contentedly, and Jongin can’t bear to make him move.  
  
Slowly, Sehun’s breaths even out, slow and heavy, and this is the perfect chance for Jongin to use his sand to make Sehun his.  
  
His mind suddenly strays to Seyeong, Sehun’s brother, still in high school. If Sehun were to leave, what would happen to him?  
  
He came back without it, Jongin thinks desperately. Sehun’s eyes are such a pretty, warm brown. Maybe this time is different.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY-THREE**  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jongin says, weeps, as he sits at Yixing’s bedside. No matter what he does, Yixing refuses to move, refuses to eat, and Jongin is helpless as he watches Yixing wither away, body fading beneath the sheets. “I’m so sorry I did this to you.”  
  
Yixing lifts a trembling hand and runs a finger down Jongin’s face, smile warm even as his eyes are empty. “You did it out of love.”  
  
Jongin’s throat hurts, each swallow scraping with sand, and he wants to scream. He’s never been in love, not the way Yixing means, and his own selfishness threatens to drown his heart.  
  
Yixing smiles at him and Jongin feels the dry skin of his lips crack when he opens his mouth to reply, “I know.”  
  
  
  
  
  
 **EXHALE**  
  
Jongin washes his hands in the bathroom sink, rubbing his palms raw, but he can still see the blood of ten lives on his hands.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **THIRTY**  
  
Sometimes, Sehun makes Jongin sit with him while he does the laundry after he gets off work, blaming a lack of clean sheets and going spontaneously deaf to all of Jongin’s suggestions that they go to his place instead.  
  
Sehun perches on top of a tiny sliver of counter while they wait, digging his toes into Jongin’s side every once and a while, when he thinks Jongin might be getting too comfortable leaning against the cabinets.  
  
“I _hate_ laundry,” Jongin mutters, trying to appear sullen even when Sehun’s toes find the ticklish spot just below his ribs.  
  
Sighing, Sehun relents, curling his legs up into his chest and resting his chin on them. “I always think it's kind of… I don’t know, sad.” Jongin cocks his head a little curiously as the washer spins loudly next to them. “You put your clothes in a machine and it washes a few days of your life away in less than an hour. It’s sad.”  
  
Sehun’s ankles are pale underneath the hem of his pants and when he grabs Jongin’s wrist, it’s just a little too tight, like he has a right to it. Jongin doesn’t think he minds.  
  
“I think it’s sadder when the water drains all out,” Jongin says without thinking. When he doesn’t explain, Sehun taps his fingers on Jongin’s wrist imploringly. “Well, then the clothes just sit there, all soggy and out of place and the washer is empty, you know?”  
  
“Yeah, but they’re not out of place forever,” Sehun says. “That’s what the drying line is for.”  
  
They stare at each other for a moment, faces serious, until Jongin realizes how ridiculous they both sound, and he cracks a smile. Sehun muffles his laugh and hops down off the counter to take out the wet sheets when the washer lets out a tune to show it’s finished, and Jongin watches him, realizing he can’t remember the last time he smiled.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **TWENTY**  
  
Junmyeon rubs the pads of his thumbs into the dips under Jongin’s eyes.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You always seem so sad,” Junmyeon says, and he swipes at the skin again, as though wiping away tears. “Am I not enough for you?”  
  
Jongin loves Junmyeon because he tries so hard. He wants to take Junmyeon’s smile and keep it in a jar for rainy days, and before, when they’d first met, his eyes had been so clear.  
  
Now they seem flatter, filled with sand like half an hourglass, and Jongin has taken so much from him. From everyone.  
  
“You’re perfect,” Jongin says, but when Junmyeon smiles up at him, he feels the words unravel in the air, like the yarn knitting together a lie.  
  
He’s not enough, but Jongin sometimes wonders if anyone is.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **INHALE**  
  
Jongin had a purpose once, a reason for being, but he’s forgotten it somehow, and now he just feels so lost.  
  
Next to him on the bed, Sehun sleeps. The fingers of one hand are curled into the fabric of Jongin’s shirt loosely, like a halfhearted attempt to stop Jongin from leaving.  
  
Jongin watches the rise and fall of Sehun’s chest and wonders how many months, years, Sehun had gone without real sleep before Jongin came along. He thinks of how Sehun looks at his little brother and how he would do anything for him.  
  
Shivering, Jongin takes Sehun’s curled hand between his own and just clings  
  
  
  
  
  
 **THIRTY-TWO**  
  
Sehun’s room has a window with no shades across from the bed that faces east, and as it hits Jongin’s eyes one morning, he slowly wakes. Sehun is tucked into his side, face stuffed practically in Jongin’s armpit to avoid the light, and the sun’s rays guild the whole room in gold.  
  
Jongin fidgets a little, tracing the edge of Sehun’s mouth lightly with a fingernail and trying to will the downward slope of it away, before smoothing Sehun’s hair back.  
  
Lu Han had looked angelic, unreal and unnaturally still in sleep, like a doll, and Jongin had always been afraid to touch him in case he might break. Sehun is not like that. Jongin can feel Sehun’s heart beating underneath his ribs, hears him hum a little in his sleep, and when Jongin tries to free his other arm to get some of the circulation back, Sehun only clings on tighter. He doesn’t really mind all that much, content to lie back and feel the softness of Sehun’s hair on his neck and watch the sunrise illuminate the backs of his eyelids.  
  
Jongin thinks he could be happy just like this, and it might be because of Sehun.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **EXHALE**  
  
Jongin can’t think of any reasons — or maybe he thinks of too many to count — but either way, where the guilt used to be, it’s Sehun filling him up, and Jongin feels heavy with it, like a jar full of sand.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **FOUR**  
  
“I dreamed of you.”  
  
Startled, Jongin almost drops the bowls as he goes to take them out of the cabinet. They are Lu Han’s and the chopsticks are his and the kitchen is now _theirs_. “What?”  
  
Coming up behind him, Lu Han frames Jongin’s hips with his hands and rests his chin on Jongin’s shoulder. Lu Han’s lips brush his jaw with every word, breath raising the hairs on his neck like a soft breeze.  
  
“That day you lent me your umbrella, I dreamed of you. That’s why I wanted to come find you again.”  
  
Dreams. Umbrellas, Jongin thinks dimly, some folktale about the sandman placing a fantastical umbrella above sleeping children to give them good dreams niggling at his memory, telling him that there’s a reason that makes sense. He’s lived a long time, answering to so many names, in so very many stories, that while Jongin knows them all, it’s hard to keep them straight.  
  
Jongin’s existence before, without Lu Han, flies past behind his eyelids as he blinks, an lonely, endless stream centuries long, but he and Lu Han are together now, and he only wants to exist in this moment. He doesn’t need anymore stories.  
  
When they’re this close, Jongin always thinks Lu Han smells like the rain.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **JUST BREATHE**  
  
Sehun is pretty and delicate and feels like home and holds Jongin’s wrist just a little bit too tight, like Jongin belongs to him, but that’s not it.  
  
The truth is, Jongin loves Sehun just because.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **THIRTY-THREE**  
  
“Maybe…” Jongin says. “Maybe you should go see if there’s some medication you can take.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
Jongin doesn’t know what he thinks, but Sehun looks so perfect when he sleeps, curled up into Jongin’s side, and even though his hair is still bleached blond, he no longer looks washed out, like over the past few months, he's learned to live in color.  
  
"You're happier when you sleep. Better."  
  
Sehun bites his lip. “I’d never be able to afford it — “  
  
“You’ve got some money saved up, and I — I could help, maybe? If you slept more, then maybe you’d be able to get a higher paying job, and then you’d get to see Seyeong more, make sure he studies and eats and — “ Jongin’s throat is tight, because he wants this for Sehun, even if it means that Sehun won’t need him anymore.  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun says, nodding. “Okay, I’ll go talk to the doctor tomorrow.”  
  
Jongin moves to push himself up off the bed, intending to leave Sehun to sleep, but Sehun’s hand stops him. “Don’t— don’t go.” He swallows, and Jongin looks at the pure brown of his eyes and doesn’t want to take a single thing from Sehun — just wants to give and give until he’s worn out, ruined for anyone else. “I like sleeping next to you. I think…” Sehun picks at the comforter, cheeks pink, and a strange nervousness tightens in Jongin’s throat. “I think I’d like doing almost anything with you,” Sehun says finally, and doesn’t give Jongin a chance to respond, curling on his side and closing his eyes.  
  
Sehun purses his mouth when he sleeps, pink lips against white, and his warmth seeps through the fabric of their clothes into Jongin’s skin. The burn in his chest his quiet, rendered unnecessary because of Sehun’s body heat and Jongin doesn’t miss it.  
  
His heart feels torn, blood pouring out and overflowing in that emptiness inside him that has always echoed so painfully, but within the pain there’s something else, and it takes Jongin’s breath away.  
  
In his sleep, Sehun presses his face into Jongin’s shoulder, melding their bodies together, and Jongin feels so full he could burst.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers, and this time, Jongin knows that he means it.


End file.
